Artist Pierre-Auguste Renoir was born on February 25, 1841 in Limoges, France. As a child of 13 he worked in a porcelain factory painting designs on fine china. In 1862, Renoir moved to Paris and studied art under Charles Gleyre; while there he met artists Alfred Sisley and Claude Monet. Like many writers of his time, Renoir spent a lot of time in the Louvre copying the old masters.

Renoir began exhibiting his art work at the Paris Salon in 1867. He was one of the founding members of the Impressionist movement of artists. The first Impressionist exhibit was held in Paris in 1874.

Renoir married Aline Victorine Charigot in 1890. She was one of the models for his painting Luncheon of the Boating Party in 1884. The couple already had a son who was born in 1885; they had two more sons. His son Jean became a successful film maker in the 1930s and 1940s. Many of Renoir’s paintings featured his family.

In 1892, Renoir developed rheumatoid arthritis; the disease forced him to move to a warmer climate in the south of France. He kept painting but had to change his style slightly and painted with a brush strapped to his arm. He also began doing sculpture in clay.

Pierre-Auguste Renoir died on December 3, 1919 in Cagnes-sur-Mer, Provence.

Renoir’s paintings are on display in many museums around the world and he remains one of the most popular artists. In 1990, his painting Bal au Moulin de la Galette, Montmarte sold for $78.1 million.

Impressionism
(Musée d'Orsay, Paris)

by Richard Sidy

I saw him
silent
with tears in his eyes
reverent
insulated from the crowds
of museum goers
who, like him,
had come to the Orsay
to pay homage to the masters,
magicians of color and light,
who caught a moment in time
a glance
an emotion
a gesture,
and immortalized it.

I paused behind him
and beheld a most beautiful
young woman,
a Renoir,
fresh, perfect, rosy,
her lips, cheeks, dark eyes
waiting
alone.

I felt the longing:
his
hers
mine.
Who was she?
Was she real
or was she just
the impression
of the artist's desire
of his idealism
of his dreams?

I found myself immersed
in the silent devotion
of this young man.
I looked at his face
and saw something there
that resembled the girl.

Did she remind him
of a sister
a cousin
a love
now gone
but cached away,
suddenly rediscovered
in her face
in her lithesome beauty?
Or was she the one
always sought
in lonely reveries
finally meeting her
but she not flesh?

Renoir, long dead
left a bittersweet souvenir
in capturing a perfect beauty,
not knowing that immortalizing
her image
would create a painful void
in future generations
of young men
who long for the
beauty
softness
grace
and fresh scent
of a living goddess.

© 2000 Richard Sidy